


priest of gevaudan

by bellafarallones



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Historical, Beast of Gévaudan - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Indrid, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Priests, Roman Catholicism, Saints, Trans Duck Newton, it's 1765, priest duck, saint minerva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27543175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellafarallones/pseuds/bellafarallones
Summary: Duck Newton is a parish priest, the Beast of Gevaudan is terrorizing his rural community, and the demon in the confessional has a voice he wouldn't mind hearing more of.
Relationships: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone who read this and gave me feedback before i posted it! 
> 
> i am the rare gay who has positive experiences with christianity, and that is reflected in this fic. i am not catholic but i did physically go to my local public library and check out a copy of Catholicism for Dummies for research

Duck looked up when the silhouette of a man appeared behind the translucent curtain. “Hello.” It was late on a Saturday, and he was sitting in the confessional, like he did every week. He hadn’t heard the door open and close, because this visitor didn’t need it.

“Hello,” said the demon. “This week I was gluttonous.”

“Yeah?” Duck was only half-listening. He had a book open in his lap, the author of which seemed to have never gone outside before. If trees came about by spontaneous generation, as this author suggested, why would they go to so much effort to make all those seeds? 

The demon was saying something about eggnog. The first time Duck had found a demon in the confessional, almost a year ago now, he’d expected some really horrific sins, but the ones he’d heard had been mostly benign. Arguable more benign than the adultery he regularly dealt with. 

“And maybe you can help me classify this one,” the demon said. “I was thinking about you, Duck. I was thinking about touching you.”

Duck’s eyes could no longer focus on the illustration of a tree on the page.

“I want to lie against your chest and feel your arms around me. You’re strong, aren’t you? I bet you’d make me feel safe. Is that greed?”

Duck took a deep breath. He didn’t know what his demon looked like, saw only the silhouette of his face behind the screen, but he knew his voice very well, and the thought of a warm body in his arms and that voice crooning in his ear was… well, it was something. “Are you done?” said Duck finally.

“Yes.”

“Your penance this week will be to prevent a house or barn fire.”

The demon’s breath caught in his chest. “Alright,” he said finally. “I will.”

Normally the penances Duck assigned were something like “say the Hail Mary prayer six times” or “compliment your enemy at least once every week for a month,” but the demon had confided to him before that his power was over disasters, and well, why shouldn’t he take advantage?

The demon launched into the prayer of contrition, saying it quickly as though he’d like to get it over with. Duck knew his answering prayer by heart, and said it with the same gravitas he always tried to maintain. 

“See you next week, Duck,” said the demon, and then he was gone. Duck had given up long ago on trying to get the demon to call him Father.

Duck had never asked his name, and indeed only knew he was a demon because of the contents of what he said. And that he came and went without using the door. 

Duck got up and went from the dark sanctuary into the darker rectory, carrying his lantern with him. The demon was always the last person to confess on Saturday evenings, and for that reason Duck had started looking forward to hearing his voice as a sign he was about to be done.

This small parish in South-Central France had not been a widely desirable assignment, especially since he was not a local, but he felt at home well enough. He dined on bread and wine, the same kind of thing he served during mass, though the bread was undeniably better. 

“Duck Newton!” came a booming voice, almost causing him to knock over his cup of wine. The voice sounded an instant before its source appeared: the spectre of a very tall woman in bloodstained plate mail, brow shining with sweat.

Duck sighed. “Hello, Minerva.”

Saints were supposed to appear in dreams, but Minerva hadn’t limited herself to the times Duck was asleep in years. “How have you been carrying out the will of God today?”

He knew from experience that there was not an answer he could give that would satisfy her. “Am I allowed to be friends with a demon? The canon law doesn’t really specify.”

Minerva’s armor clattered as she withdrew a longsword from its sheath and assumed a fighting stance. Any other person would have had to use two hands to heft such a weapon, but she carried it in one easily. “Demons must be destroyed! Just like our unholy occupiers, the English!”

Duck sighed again. He did a lot of sighing when Minerva was around. She hadn’t kept up with the past three hundred years of geopolitics. “France is not at war with the English anymore.”

“What? I thought we were!”

“Nope. We lost Canada, though.”

Minerva swished her sword back and forth through the air. “I shall slay a thousand Englishmen to reclaim our lost territory!”

Duck took this as permission to be as friendly with a demon as he felt like. 

\--

“Did you do as I asked?” Duck said the next Saturday when the demon settled on the other side of the curtain.

“Yes,” said the demon. “A cow was about to kick over a candle and I put the candle out.”

“Good,” said Duck. He took a deep breath. “One of your colleagues has been causing trouble recently.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. The beast.” A creature described as a giant wolf had been devouring shepherds in the area of Duck’s rural parish. He’d been to too many funerals for teenage girls this year.

“You think that’s one of ours?”

“Are you saying it isn’t?”

“It isn’t.”

“Well, I suppose that’s good to know.”

“Are you going to make it my penance to kill the beast?”

“No. I wouldn’t deprive the king’s hunters the pleasure.”

“You have no way of knowing normally whether I do my penance or not.”

“The same is true for all the confessions I hear.”

“You could assign me something you could supervise,” said the demon quietly. “You could make me serve you. I would.”

Duck should stop this line of conversation immediately. 

“I’d keep your bed very warm for you.”

“That’s rather intimate, considering I don’t even know your name.”

“Indrid. My name is Indrid.”

Duck took several deep breaths. “Well, Indrid, are you going to confess any sins, or are we done here?”

\--

It was Wednesday, before evening mass, and Duck had gone to look at the trees. He’d run into his friend Aubrey watching her family’s flock of sheep and now sat on a rock at the edge of the pasture.

Aubrey was cross-legged on the ground, striking sparks with a piece of flint and watching them burn out. “And so I told her,” Aubrey was saying, “she’s not special just because she’s literate -”

“Um,” Duck interrupted. 

He saw it first as a flicker between the trees on the other side of the pasture, the shadows on the ground stretching into the unholy offspring of red mastiff and wolf, a creature with a shaggy coat over lean muscle, drooling buckets over thick fangs. 

“Aubrey?”

The creature crept closer, silent, and the sheep seemed to stop their chewing, sensing the danger as well. 

“Shit!” Aubrey tried to strike a spark onto the end of her stick. She got the tip alight, but it went out as soon as she leveled it at the beast. “Git!” she yelled. It didn’t even flinch. 

Duck didn’t even have a stick. He stumbled backwards, intending to grab Aubrey and run, when the ground rumbled underneath him. The earth opened like a gaping mouth in front of Aubrey, and rising out of it was a demon with broad wings and claw-tipped hands, facing down the wolf.

The wolf didn’t even try to fight. It whimpered and ran away with its tail between its legs.

The demon turned to look at Duck and Aubrey with red, glowing eyes. “Even knowing it was coming, that was underwhelming.”

This was not the body Duck had seen through the curtain, but he knew that voice. “Indrid?”

The demon flinched. The feathers on his body and wings fluffed up in alarm. Then he dove into the hole from whence he came, which closed up behind him. 

“I can see why angels have to say ‘be not afraid,’” said Aubrey.

Duck shook his head. “Pretty sure that wasn’t an angel.”

\--

Seeing Indrid recoil from him had been painful. Duck wouldn’t deny that. But he scolded himself for taking the things the demon had said seriously. Indrid had presumably been assigned to corrupt him, and the fantasies of intimacy he’d spun were only part of the job. 

When Saturday came and went with no Indrid in the confessional, however, Duck started to worry. And on the evening of the second Saturday, he opted for desperate measures. If a priest had the power to exorcise demons, why not summon them?

Duck knelt on the floor by his bed and raised his hands into the air. “Oh, Saint Michael,” he said aloud. “You wrestled with Lucifer. And Israel, who was called Jacob, a human who grappled with an angel.” Duck paused. “And Saint Minerva. My life is for your service. I beg you, bring Indrid to me.”

An indignant squeak behind him, and Duck turned around.

There was the demon who’d scared off the wolf, kneeling on the rug, arms bound behind his back with spectral red rope that wrapped tight around his feathered chest. His eyes met Duck’s for a moment, and then he looked away, lowering his head. 

“Indrid?” Duck slowly rose to his feet. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” There instead of a winged beast was a skinny human. The ropes shrunk to fit his narrower chest, digging into his fine linen shirt. This was the person Duck had seen through the screen, eyes concealed by spectacles with lenses rose-red as the garment of Mary in the cathedral in Mende’s stained-glass window. 

“Where have you been?” Duck demanded. 

“I didn’t want to scare you, now you’ve seen my true form.”

Duck folded his hands, trying for the gravitas of a bishop. “I am a priest of God. No demon can scare me.”

Indrid nodded. He wasn’t fighting his bonds, and the glasses hid the expression in his eyes.

“Is my soul not corrupted enough yet for you to allow me to die? Is that why you saved me?”

Indrid let out a short laugh. “I have no idea how corrupt your soul is, or what the standard is for getting into Heaven.”

“Isn’t that your whole area of expertise?”

“Souls, yes.” Indrid licked his lips. “I like yours. It smells like pine trees and onion soup. I don’t know what Saint Peter would think of it.”

Duck moved forward and Indrid looked up at him, leaned into the touch when he cupped the demon’s cheek. Indrid’s skin was pleasantly warm. 

“You could reward me for saving your life by letting me loose,” Indrid said.

Duck had not expected the ropes. He suspected they were a result of Minerva’s intercession, though she’d probably done it out of distrust for demons rather than a suspicion that this might be mutually enjoyable. “And what would you do with your freedom?” He carded his fingers through Indrid’s soft silver hair. 

“Hug you, probably,” Indrid admitted.

“I can’t very well let a demon loose in the rectory,” Duck teased.

“Even if he’s a very well-behaved demon?” said Indrid, and his voice was too vulnerable, more vulnerable than anyone who’d ever confessed, and Duck’s heart ached for him. 

“I am very grateful to you for saving Aubrey and me,” Duck mused. “And you do deserve a reward for that.”

“Yes,” Indrid hissed. 

Either Indrid was very light or Duck was stronger than a priest really should be, because it was no effort at all for him to bend down and scoop the still-bound demon into his arms. Indrid let out a little squeak and then relaxed against Duck’s chest. Duck laid him gently on his narrow bed and curled up around him. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.” Indrid’s voice had risen an octave or two, but he didn’t complain. 

Duck rested his chin on Indrid’s shoulder and closed his eyes. It had been so long since he’d been this close to anyone. One of the downsides of a life of enforced celibacy. “You were right. My bed is warmer with you in it.”

“I told you so,” said Indrid. 

They lay like that until sleep threatened, but Duck knew he couldn’t just drift off like this. The rope around Indrid’s chest, still glowing faintly, disintegrated when Duck said a silent prayer to Minerva. Indrid stretched his arms and looked around. 

“I need to sleep,” Duck said, “but you can stay if you like.”

“Please,” said Indrid. 

Duck got off the bed again and started undoing the buttons of his priest’s robe. Underneath he wore a thin undershirt and drawers. This much he was okay with Indrid seeing; his chest looked like that of any other man. 

This had been the miracle Minerva had done for him. He’d been eighteen, and she’d appeared to him in a dream, and urged him to become a priest. He’d reminded her that people with breasts were not permitted to become priests. 

Duck had woken up with a flat chest. His jaw was squarer, too, and his hips were no longer wider than his waist, and there was hair on his chest and on his cheeks. He went to seminary school without mentioning the gender-affirmational miracle. 

Having completed the rest of his nightly rituals Duck returned to bed to find Indrid lying there as he had left him. “May I?” said Duck, and when Indrid nodded, Duck eased the glasses off his face and placed them, neatly folded, on the nightstand. The irises underneath were bloodred. “I need you to get up so I can get under the covers.”

Indrid sighed dramatically and stood up long enough for Duck to slip between the sheets, and then they were in bed together, tiled like fish scales. 

Duck reached over and put out the lamp. In the darkness he knew Indrid’s shoulders and chest and the slight tickle of his hair against Duck’s nose only by touch. Was this pleasant heat the warmth of hellfire? No matter. Sleep’s embrace was the easiest thing in the world. 

That warmth was the first thing Duck noticed when he woke. Normally the chill forced him out of bed to light the fire. Today, though, there were narrow limbs like the bars of a radiator folded against his own.

Indrid turned around when Duck stirred, loose smile and red eyes unselfconscious for the first time. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” said Duck. “I meant to ask. I thought demons weren’t supposed to be able to get into churches.”

Indrid laughed. “I have an understanding with your gargoyles.”

\--

Duck stumbled in late, reminding himself never again to schedule two funerals in the same day. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the rectory his cassock was off, pulled over his head. 

“I can’t be a priest anymore today,” said Duck by way of explanation.

Indrid, sitting at the kitchen table, raised his eyebrows. Yes. That was right. Duck had been sleeping with a demon in his bed for the better part of a week, now, a warm _ hot  _ demon who melted in his arms, an oathbreaker of a demon for lying flush against his chest night after night and never fulfilling any of his filthy promises. 

Indrid got up from the table and transferred Duck’s discarded robe from the floor to the closet. He’d settled into a routine of arriving late in the evening, usually after Duck stopped work for the day, and leaving sometime soon after daybreak.

“Thanks.”

Indrid went up to him, then, touched Duck’s thin undershirt, and Duck was, for a moment, self-conscious. His robe normally hid the softness of his body, the body Indrid always looked at with far more adoration than its owner felt it deserved. “Let me take care of you,” Indrid said, and steered Duck into a chair. 

There was a meat pie in a tin on the counter, something someone had given him earlier as thanks for burying their mother, and Indrid unwrapped it and cut a slice out, transferred the slice to the plate and the plate to a table, laid a fork beside it. 

Duck ate numbly. Indrid took up a position behind him, rested his hands on Duck’s shoulders as he ate, gingerly at first, and then digging his thumbs into where the knots were. “Do you want to talk about it?” Indrid said finally.

“There’s never a convenient time to die, is there?” Duck chased bits of meat around with his fork.

“I can’t imagine there is.”

“I knew Madame Delfosse, and she wouldn’t want it like this. Her husband will rot without her taking care of him, and her daughters just feel guilty.” Duck had finished eating, and set down his fork. 

“Things like this have been happening for thousands of years, and they will keep happening. Humanity soldiers on.” Indrid took the fork and the plate and washed them in the sink, dried them, and put them away again. He washed the knife he’d used to cut the pie, and put that away too, and then wrapped up and put away the pie. Duck watched in slight awe. Then he turned around and leaned on the counter, looking at Duck. “Who is the woman?”

“What?”

“In a few minutes a woman in armor will be here.”

“Oh, Minerva. She’s… sort of my patron saint?”

Indrid frowned. “She won’t be happy to see me. Would you like me to leave?”

Duck groped for Indrid’s hand and found it. “Please stay.” 

Indrid flinched an instant before Minerva arrived. “Duck Newton!” she cried. “I helped you summon this demonic entity, yes, but were you unable to dispel him?”

Duck groaned. “I’ve had a hard day.”

“Is that why you are undressed? Your thighs are excellent, by the way.”

“Thanks. Look, what do you want?”

Minerva drew herself up to her fullest height, which was very tall indeed. “I want you to slay the beast of Gevaudan!”

“What? I’ve seen that thing, and Indrid had to show up and scare it away!”

“Well, tell him not to! I did not get the chance to display my strength through combat. Seize the opportunity I was denied.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It is my great shame, Duck Newton. The night before I was to face the English on the field of battle, a plague struck their army and felled them.”

“That is why you were canonized,” Duck admitted. There was a fresco of it in this very chapel, Minerva in all her muscular glory praying in her tent the night before a battle, and then the angel of the Lord flitting through the enemy’s camp as they died, blue-faced and clutching their throats.

“I was denied the chance to slay a single man, Duck. I wanted them to see the face of the people they had conquered who were now rising up against them. I wanted them to feel the strength of my arms and of my will. You can make the beast feel your strength and your righteous fury, and you  _ will _ .”

“The king has already sent a team of hunters to Gevaudan to kill the beast.”

“Hunters! They will not bring down this beast like they bring down foxes with their packs of dogs! No, this hellhound needs a  _ warrior!” _

“I’m also not a warrior.”

Minerva drew her sword again, blade gleaming in the firelight, and held it out to Duck, hilt-first. “Take my sword, and you will be.”

“Taking your sword is physically impossible for me to do,” said Duck. Minerva wasn’t  _ solid  _ when she showed up like this; he knew because he’d walked through her on more than one occasion.

“Apparently not,” murmured Indrid, sounding wondrous. 

Duck reached out and was genuinely shocked when his hand felt the warm leather wrapping on the hilt. Minerva flickered and vanished, and the sword clattered to the ground as soon as she was no longer supporting its weight. The last thing Duck saw before she was gone was the pride on her face.

“New owner!” shrieked the sword. “Pick me up at once! This is no way to treat the bringer of holy destiny!”

“Oh,  _ no, _ ” said Duck. Indrid burst out laughing. 

“My name is Beacon!” There was an angry-looking mouth forged into the steel at the base of the blade.

“Alright, Beacon.” Duck picked him up. “I can see why Minerva wanted to get rid of you.” He opened one of his kitchen cupboards and put Beacon inside, lying diagonally across the meat pie, and shut the door again.

The sword said something else, but his voice was muffled enough to be incomprehensible.

“Alright,” said Duck. “I’m going to bed.” He made it to the doorway of his bedroom and turned around. Indrid was still standing awkwardly in the kitchen. “Are you coming?”

Indrid blinked and hurried forward as though he was surprised to be invited. Duck dragged back the blanket and summarily collapsed into bed. Indrid wavered for a moment, then lay down, not in his usual place on the mattress, but instead directly on top of Duck. 

Duck’s breath caught in his chest. It wasn’t that Indrid was heavy, he wasn’t, but the solid pressure of him was impossible to forget about. 

“Are you afraid of it?” said Indrid, resting his cheek against Duck’s shoulder. “Is that why you’re reluctant to do as Minerva asks?”

“A little bit? I mean, of course I am, it’s terrifying. It’s killed people. But it’s not just that. It’s… Minerva seems to think it’s inevitable that I’ll do some great thing, the way she did great things, but it’s really not. I don’t feel called to greatness. And why should it be my responsibility when there are so many people chomping at the bit to be a hero anyway?”

Indrid nodded against his chest. “I understand that.” His lips were so close to Duck’s neck that his breath made Duck’s skin prickle. Then, slowly, Indrid lifted his hand and traced gentle patterns down Duck’s side through his shirt. Duck held his breath. He never wanted this to end. 

Indrid’s fingers brushed bare skin where Duck’s undershirt had ridden up a little, and lingered there. Then Indrid jerked back as though he’d been shocked.

Duck took a deep, steadying breath. Indrid’s weight pressed between his legs, and it was a conscious effort not to buck his hips up into the pressure. “Indrid, you’re. You’ve been real sweet to me tonight but you’re sending mixed signals, and I just wanna know what your intentions are.”

Indrid sighed. “I’m sorry for the mixed signals. I am very,  _ very  _ attracted to you,” he said. “But you’re not meant - you’re not supposed to -”

“What, I’m not supposed to have sex?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t tell the pope if you won’t.”

Indrid’s smile was almost predatory. He moved backwards, knelt between Duck’s legs, and paused, just barely touching Duck’s waistband. “In that case, may I…?”

Duck squirmed. “Look, I don’t exactly have… the standard configuration for a man.” Minerva’s miracle had mainly altered the parts of him that people were likely to see. 

“Alright,” said Indrid. 

“Then yes,” said Duck, lifting his hips so Indrid could more easily have him undressed. “Please.”

Spreading his legs for Indrid was the most natural thing in the world, and whatever this feeling was that raged hot in Duck’s belly, something more potent than arousal, all he knew was that he wanted more of it. Indrid’s fingers brushed his sex and Duck jerked, hard.

Indrid drew his hand back. “Oh, you’re sensitive.” 

“I’m not exactly… experienced, alright?” 

Indrid’s hands settled on Duck’s knees, holding them apart, though Duck would never dream of trying to close them. “Duck, are you a virgin?”

“Look, being… the way I am...  _ and _ a priest is not exactly a conducive combination.” 

“And you don’t even touch yourself?” 

“Not recently! I haven’t had any privacy because there’s been this guy sleeping in my bed!” 

“Aw, Duck,” Indrid cooed, “all pent-up and denied.” 

Duck thrust his hips up into the air. “If I’m pent-up it’s because of you saying dirty things to me every week and then not carrying through on them even when you’re literally in my bed, Indrid  _ please  _ touch me -” 

“If I’m going to be the first to enjoy all of this I’m going to take my time.” Indrid lavished kisses on Duck’s inner thighs. “Will you show me how you touch yourself?”

With that permission Duck’s hand was between his legs in an instant, and he bit back a moan.

“Oh, Duck, no, don’t try to be quiet. I want to hear you.”

Duck let out a noisy breath as his fingers slipped over his clit. “I did - I did this thinking about you. About your voice. You know that time you told me you’d watched mass and thought about me fucking you over the altar? I made it back here and leaned against the door with my stupid robe hiked up and came all over my fingers.”

“Shame I wasn't there.”

Duck rucked up his shirt to play with his nipples with his other hand, and raked his gaze over Indrid’s body. “Why are you still wearing clothes?”

“Silly me.” Indrid’s shirt ended up on the floor, and then his breeches, and he wasn’t wearing anything underneath that.

“Oh,” said Duck, taking in the expanse of smooth skin, Indrid’s pink nipples and the half-hard cock between his thighs. Indrid curled into himself under the scrutiny like a touch-me-not plant, a kind of modesty Duck wouldn’t have thought possible for a demon. Duck groped clumsily for his shoulder. “Can I - can I kiss you?”

Indrid nodded and Duck pulled him down on top of him, Indrid’s bare skin hot against his own. His mouth was wet and welcoming.

“Indrid, I’m close,” Duck whined.

Indrid pulled Duck’s hand away and licked the slick off his fingers and Duck didn’t know if that was filthy or not but he sure as hell was into it. Indrid kissed him once more and then moved down between his thighs. “May I?”

Duck nodded, and then Indrid’s mouth was on his clit, and he yelled. Indrid’s tongue was soft and smooth and so good, so gentle, it was all Duck could do to grind up into it until Indrid was holding his hips down into the mattress. “Is sex - is it always this good?” Duck gasped, tugging on Indrid’s hair. 

Indrid pulled back just enough to answer. “Mm, no. Very godly of you to save yourself for me, by the way.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Duck’s inner thigh. “You must have known I was going to come along and take care of you so well you’d never want anyone else.”

“Please, Indrid,  _ fuck me.”  _ He hadn’t had a period since whatever Minerva did for him, and if that didn’t mean he could have a demon’s bare cock inside him, what was a miracle good for?

Indrid stroked himself quickly to full hardness and pressed a finger inside of Duck, so wet with spit and slick he was almost gaping. More fingers followed easily, obscene noises as they fucked in and out. And then finally Indrid lined himself up and pushed in, trembling, so slow and gentle. “Is this - is this okay?”

“Yes, Indrid, yes, better than okay -”

Indrid thrust his hips forward just a little and rubbed at Duck’s clit as he did, just like he’d watched Duck do for himself. “May I - would it be alright if I went a little faster?”

“Yes,  _ fuck me,  _ Indrid, I ain’t  _ fragile,  _ use your powers to see if you want, I’ll be alright.”

The noise Indrid made was barely human and sent shivers down Duck’s spine. Indrid was on top of him and inside him, kissing him hard with one hand firm on his hip to keep Duck from grinding up into him, and spilled inside him with a broken cry against Duck’s lips. “Fuck,” Indrid murmured, and kept kissing him even as he pulled away, open-mouthed and lazy as Duck whimpered in desperation. 

Indrid did not let up, but replaced his cock with his fingers, and Duck came like that, with Indrid’s cum dripping out of him and Indrid’s thumb on his clit and Indrid, Indrid, Indrid. 

Duck forgot about Minerva’s sword entirely until he opened the cupboard the next morning in search of breakfast. “Well,” drawled Beacon. “I did not realize that the church had started allowing its priests to keep consorts.” 

“Do you want to get thrown in a well? Because talking like that is how you’re going to get thrown in a well.” 

Beacon was intelligent enough not to respond.

\--

For almost a week Duck did not think of the beast or of the sword in the cupboard. Beacon seemed to have resigned himself to his lot in life, and only grumbled a little bit when Duck opened the door. 

On the night that week ended, Duck came home to find Indrid sitting at the kitchen table. The fire was lit, there was an empty wine glass at his elbow, and the table was strewn with crumpled papers. He looked so right there, so comfortable; the domesticity of it was a stake in Duck’s heart. Maybe this was why priests weren’t supposed to have families.

“Hello,” said Indrid without looking up. “I thought you might be interested to know. I had a vision of you killing the beast of Gevaudan. Now, this future may or may not actually happen, but my seeing it means it’s at least possible.”

Duck made it to the table in three steps. “Lemme see that.”

Indrid turned his sketchbook around, awkwardly keeping his palm over the top third of the page. There was the beast, just as he remembered it, facing off against… Father Duck Newton, wielding Beacon as confidently as Minerva always had. “Okay, so I might fight it. What if I lose?” 

Indrid shook his head. “There is another beast with claws in the world who is more than invested enough in your continued survival to ensure that it is at least a draw.” 

“I’m grateful every day.” Duck leaned forward and kissed him. “And hopefully the part of the page you’re conspicuously concealing is not a vision of my untimely death?”

Indrid blushed. “It’s nothing. Not a vision.” 

Duck raised his eyebrows and maintained eye contact, one of his priestly interpersonal skills, until Indrid was forced to look away.

“Alright, fine.” Indrid allowed Duck to peel his hand off the page. The lines of this drawing were not as aggressive as those of a vision recorded as it appeared, but it was not lacking in detail. There was Duck’s face, eyes closed, lips parted. A face of pleasure. Most of the rest of his body was obscured by the broad wings of the creature on top of him. 

“That’s you.” 

Indrid nodded. “It’s just something I was thinking about, I didn't think you’d see it.” 

Duck considered his next words carefully. “How do you feel about your other body?” 

Indrid shrugged. “It’s how I look basically all the time when I’m not interacting with humans.” 

“Indrid. Do you feel like you have to look human on my account?” 

Indrid did not meet his gaze. 

Duck carefully considered his strategy. Indrid was not given to talking openly about his feelings. “Y’know, from what I remember, you seemed real soft when you got wings. And warm. And I, uh, it’s been getting chilly recently.” 

Indrid smiled weakly. “And you’ll tell me if it makes you uncomfortable?” 

“Promise.”

Indrid took a deep breath, and the chair he was sitting in was pushed back from the table as his body doubled in bulk. He stretched his wings, one flap enough to ruffle Duck’s hair even from across the room. 

Duck took a tentative step forward. Indrid seemed to be trying to make himself look smaller by hunching his shoulders. Duck rolled his eyes. Indrid liked to act like his future vision made him omniscient, but if he was he’d know just how not-bothered Duck was by size and strength.

Indrid looked like some unholy hybrid of a bird and a moth. He had feathers, sparser in places and thicker in others, especially concentrated on his wings and in a thick ruff around his neck. Where there weren’t feathers there was fuzz. Feathery antennae perched atop his head.

His eyes, though, were like no animal Duck had ever seen: red, glowing, without pupils, they seemed almost liquid in their featureless roundness. “Can I touch you?” said Duck. “And what do I need to know?” 

“My wings are sensitive, so you might want to leave off those for now. Other than that, it’s roughly the same as when I look human.” 

“Great.” Duck could barely get his arms around Indrid’s chest like this, but he made a good effort, breathing in the smell of feathers. Indrid let out a strange little chirp. Duck pulled back a little. “Was that a good noise?”

“Yes,” said Indrid. “That was a good noise. This body has… grown unaccustomed to touch. I forgot how nice it was.”

“Well, I’ll touch you as much as you let me.”

Indrid bowed his head slightly. Duck could not interpret the angles of his antennae, but his voice was playful. “May I display my demonic strength by carrying you to bed?”

\--

The sun was setting. A demon and a priest sat on the steps of the chapel and watched the king’s hunters return to town, disappointed once again, lances pristine and horses shining with sweat.

“I guess the beast is smart enough not to be found,” said Indrid. 

“So even if I go hunting I might not find it either,” said Duck. 

“If it’s God’s will you will.” 

“If I go out tomorrow I can at least tell Minerva I tried. I probably won’t even see the stupid thing.” 

The last fragments of sun glinted off Indrid’s glasses as he turned, grinning, to look at Duck. “Wanna bet?”

They ended up back in the pasture with Aubrey, because she was the person Duck knew well enough to ask if he could stand in her field with a sword. 

“This is my friend the mothman,” Duck said by way of introduction.

Indrid, smiling in that way of his, stuck out his hand for Aubrey to shake. “Indrid, please.” Her eyebrows were sky-high. “And if anyone asks, I wasn’t here.”

“He’s here to make sure you and I don’t die,” Duck explained.

Aubrey must have noticed Indrid’s conspicuous lack of either weaponry or a physically intimidating stature, but she did not say anything. 

It was the same as it had been the first time, except now Duck had a sword and he wasn’t alone on the rock. “You’re not going to let this thing kill me, right?” Duck said. “Right?” 

“Of course not, Duck. But you have this handled.” 

“After all, Duck Newton,” Beacon cut in. “You have  _ me. _ ” 

“Oh, shut up.”

For a while Duck watched the sheep in their placid chewing, and Indrid lay back on the rock, enjoying the sun and the breeze. Finally Indrid sat up and bumped Duck’s shoulder affectionately. “It’ll only be a few minutes now.” And then he pointed.

Duck looked. Yes, there was the beast, a rust-dark stain on the spring-green field. Had it gotten larger since he’d seen it last? 

Duck slipped down from the rock and stood with his feet planted, wielding Beacon. Sheep parted and fled, but the wolf was not concerned with them. It was heading straight for Duck. As though that’s what God intended. 

Finally it stopped, maybe five feet away from him. Aubrey stood stock-still to the side. Indrid was still lounging on the rock, unconcerned as only someone who takes the long view can be, admiring Duck’s ass. 

The wolf lunged. Whip-fast, outside of Duck’s conscious control, Beacon curled forward to meet it. Muscular shoulders slammed against the ground. Beacon had wrapped around the wolf’s neck and it scrabbled not to be decapitated, writhing and frothing at Duck’s feet. 

“So is this a magical beast or just, like, a weird wolfdog thing?” Duck half-shouted. “Because I am not super interested in committing animal cruelty!”

“Let me kill it!” screamed Beacon. “Let me sever its head from its shoulders and suck the fluid from its spine!”

And then the wolf was on fire, and Duck leaped back, pulling Beacon along with him. Aubrey was holding her hands out in front of her. “I think I did that?” she yelled. “I’m sorry, I just - I don’t know what I did!”

The smell of burning fur was horrible, as were the beast’s as it rolled in the grass to put itself out. Duck was distracted stomping out the little fires it created. No use killing the beast if you burn down the whole forest along the way. 

“Duck!” yelled Aubrey. “I can’t believe I’m the one who has to say this, but stay focused!”

“Right.” Sparks died under Duck’s boot, and he raised Beacon again. The beast’s screams had paled into pathetic crying, and it lay now on its side in the smoldering grass, chest heaving. When Duck brought Beacon down it was almost a mercy. The beast’s legs twitched for a moment, its blood spilled out onto the grass, and then it was still. 

There was a sound like a thundercrack, and Duck and Aubrey looked up. There, floating haloed in the clear blue sky, was Minerva.

She was beautiful. Her armor shone blindingly bright in the sun; Duck couldn’t imagine facing her as an enemy in battle. It was a mercy for her enemies to die of disease, he thought privately, even the pain and humiliation of choking on your own phlegm would be better than the red-hot knife of seeing her and not worshipping her. 

“Duck Newton!” roared Minerva in the voice of rushing wind and water and all the sounds that are too great to be human. “You have fulfilled your destiny.”

Duck wiped Beacon’s blade on a clean patch of grass and held him, hilt-first, up to Minerva.

“He kept me in a  _ cupboard,”  _ Beacon whined. Minerva’s expression did not change as she took her weapon back and returned him to the sheath at her hip. 

“My champion,” said Minerva affectionately, caressing Duck’s cheek. Even with her feet touching the ground she towered over all of them. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help,” Duck mumbled. She was too glorious to look at.

Minerva patted his cheek one last time and strode across the field to Aubrey, seized Aubrey’s hands in hers. “And you! Lady Flame!”

“Was that fire from you?”

Minerva turned Aubrey’s hands over, touched her palms and fingers. “No, Aubrey, the fire was not my doing. You have your own destiny, and it’s going to be amazing.” Then she turned to Indrid.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said.

“I know.” Her smile was human cut with divine, like veins of gold through rock. “I just need to give you the shovel talk.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy to announce that this version of indrid's moth form does in fact have a dick

Duck strongly suspected that the cheese souffle on the table was compelled by demonic magic to be as puffy as it was, given how little time Indrid had spent beating the eggs, but he wasn’t about to complain. It smelled delicious, and Indrid looked very proud of himself.

They’d just sat down to eat it when Minerva appeared. “Duck Newton!”

“Hey, Minerva.” Duck put down his fork. “What do you want?”

“Oh, uh. I’m just checking in.” She fidgeted with the pommel of her sword, a supremely un-Minerva-like gesture. 

“Can you eat?” said Duck.

“Yes? Why?”

Duck waited for Indrid’s barely-perceptible nod. “Wanna join us for dinner, then? I’m hungry and it’ll be weird if we’re eating and you’re pacing around with a sword.”

“Oh! I would be delighted, Duck!”

“Plates are in the left cupboard and silverware in the drawer to your right,” said Indrid mildly.

“Thank you!” Leaning a blessedly-silent Beacon against the counter, Minerva collected a plate and a fork and joined them at the table. For a moment they ate in silence: the souffle was as delicious as it looked, which was very. 

“So,” said Duck finally. “How’s heaven?”

“Oh, you know,” said Minerva. “Some people think that just because they’re dead, they don’t have to work anymore.”

“If you don’t get to stop working when you’re dead, when do you?” said Indrid.

“When there’s no more work to be done,” said Minerva, incredulous that he’d even asked.

“Lord, that’s grim,” said Indrid.

Minerva only shrugged. “How’s hell?”

“Oh, you know. Warm.” Indrid looked faintly uncomfortable. “I don’t actually get down there much these days.”

Duck was surprised by that, but the look on Indrid’s face made him want to change the subject. “Aubrey’s gone to Paris,” he said. “On the archbishop’s invitation.” Everyone who was anyone simply had to see the young woman who could summon holy fire from her hands.

“And you didn’t go with her?” said Minerva.

“I have a job to do here,” said Duck. 

“I visited her there a few weeks ago,” said Indrid. “She somehow finagled us an invitation to tour the king’s collection of Greek and Roman statuary, it was really excellent.”

“I imagine so,” said Minerva. “What’s her holy quest, again?”

Duck and Indrid looked at each other. “I… don’t think she has one?”

“Ah, well. The next time the English try to invade they’ll get what’s coming to them.”

\--

Indrid appeared human when Minerva was around, but the rest of the time, when he and Duck were alone, he looked like what Duck was increasingly starting to think of as… himself. Taller than he was as a human, and physically more imposing, but also softer to the touch, with a mix of feathers and insectoid fuzz Duck loved to map with his hands. His wings were gorgeous, too, black with mahogany patterns that were invisible until the light caught them just right. 

It was absentminded at first, half-asleep in the warm darkness, when Duck first touched Indrid’s antennae. Indrid hadn’t said anything about not touching them, though he was so tall that they were normally out of reach. The texture was nice, soft and bristly, and then of course Duck dragged his fingers through the feathers on Indrid’s chest, feeling the smooth shafts and the way the vane tapered off at both ends.

Indrid’s eyes snapped open. Duck’s back hit the mattress with a  _ whump,  _ Indrid was on top of him, and all at once he was wide awake. 

“Hello,” said Duck. “Did I do something wrong?”

Indrid let out a sort of strangled groan. “That depends what you’re angling for.” His claws dragged down Duck’s shoulder. Then he shook his head, as though ridding his ears of water. “I’m sorry, you didn’t know, I’ll -”

Something warm and wet and thick dripped onto Duck’s stomach.

“Oh, that’s embarrassing.” Indrid squirmed away.

Duck groped up through the darkness and found a seam in Indrid’s feathered body, roughly where one would expect such a thing, dripping slick onto the surrounding glossy feathers. “Can I-”

“ _ Yes.” _

“Antennae are sensitive, huh?” Duck’s fingers slipped easily inside, drawing more inhuman noises. “If I wasn’t angling for something before, I definitely am now.” At the top of the slit was… yes, that was a cock. Very large, and  _ ridged.  _ “Holy shit, Indrid. You’ve been holding out on me.” They’d never done anything sexual with Indrid in this form.

“Hhng, Duck,  _ please  _ let me fuck you. And I’m seeing a dildo, why didn’t you tell me you had one-” 

The dildo Duck had bought from a sailor in Paris, back when he was riding the early high of the things one could accomplish when strangers saw you as a man. He’d been too embarrassed to bring it up before. “I need light.” 

Indrid waved a hand and the lamp across the room ignited. His cock, shining with slick, was even more intimidating now that Duck could see it. 

“And I need you to let me up so I can get the dildo.”

Indrid grumbled but allowed Duck off the bed. 

“And don’t get too excited, that’s not fitting inside me without some serious prep.”

Indrid fidgeted. “Will you tie me up? I foresee it being a comfort to me if I don’t have to worry about trying to control myself.”

Duck raised his eyebrows but took the lamp and came back with a length of sturdy rope. Indrid held his wings obligingly against the bedposts, and Duck wrapped the rope quickly, then bound Indrid’s wrists above his head. “Good?”

“Good. Thank you, Duck, I’m -” He thrust his hips up into nothing.

Duck held up the dildo. “You want this inside you?”

“Yes please, please, please,” Indrid begged, and Duck slid the ivory cock inside him, surprised by how easily it went in, but if this slit was meant to take cocks the size of Indrid’s it was no wonder. 

Duck lay back and slipped his hand between his legs, watching Indrid twitch and whimper. 

“Demon bodies are - built for sex,” Indrid explained haltingly. “It is… often a casual thing, when we happen to meet.”

“Oh.” Duck’s fingers slowed in opening himself up. This was probably a conversation they should have had earlier, and now was  _ definitely  _ not the time, but he’d assumed that his was the only bed Indrid shared.

“For those of us whose hearts do not belong to handsome priests, of course.”

“ _ Indrid. _ ” It was the most romantic thing Indrid had ever said to him, and probably he said it because he wanted to get fucked so badly, but it still felt warm in Duck’s chest. 

“You like that I’m all yours?”

“Yes,” Duck said. He had three fingers inside himself now and was working up to a fourth, more rushed than he would normally be, but seeing Indrid tied up had done things to him since that first night with Minerva’s spectral rope. “My demon. All mine.”

Indrid squirmed and bucked his hips up into nothing. He had gotten a little ahead of himself, Duck thought, asking to be restrained before they’d even begun. “Please, Duck, please touch me, look at me, something-”

“Pretty-boy wants attention, huh?” Indrid’s cock was almost too thick to get his hand around.

Indrid’s antennae wilted, and his voice collapsed. “I’m not pretty like this.”

“I don’t know, I think you’re pretty. Your eyes glow and your feathers are soft and shiny and you make the cutest noises, especially when I do  _ this,”  _ Duck said, eliciting with the motion of his wrist an adorable squeak. 

“Thank you,” Indrid breathed. “Oh, Duck, you’re so nice to me, so perfect, I - I - I lo-” but he strangled himself on his words.

Duck wasn’t going to push him. Instead he straddled Indrid’s hips and rubbed himself on the head of Indrid’s cock, until emptiness was unbearable and he guided it inside him. They were so close, then, chest to chest, Duck tugging on fistfuls of feathers. 

“My wings,” said Indrid, fluttering against his bonds. “Touch them?” Duck sank his fingers into the thick layer of flight feathers and dragged his hand down, and Indrid shuddered in pleasure and spilled inside him, hot and so much, but the motion of his hips did not stop. “I have even less of a refractory period like this than normal,” he gasped out by way of explanation.

“ _ Fuck  _ you’re hot,” said Duck. Looking down he thought he could see the bulge of Indrid’s cock inside him. “Built for sex, huh? Convenient, given how gorgeous you are.”

The muscles in Indrid’s arms twitched helplessly as he pulled against the rope. “I aim to please,” he said breathlessly.

“Fuck yes.” Chasing his own pleasure now, Duck rested his forehead against Indrid’s chest and took one hand off Indrid’s wings to rub at his clit. 

“Will you untie me? I am calmer now than I was, and I’d like to hold you.” 

“Mhm.” Duck fiddled with the ropes on Indrid’s wrists with slippery fingers. Then Indrid’s arms were warm and steady around him.

“Will my handsome human cum for me?” said Indrid, and, well, who was Duck to deny him?

\--

Minerva lingered on the inside of Duck’s eyelids like the bright afterimage of the sun. She’d chosen  _ him _ . Why? And then there was the demon at his kitchen table, slowly emptying the sugar bowl into his mouth. Indrid paused guiltily when he noticed Duck watching him.

Duck shrugged. “Eat all the sugar you want. At least there’s one supernatural being in my life with attainable expectations.”

Indrid put down the sugar. “Do you think I have expectations for you?”

“That’s not really the right word for it. More like… I feel like I know why you like me. As opposed to Minerva, who won’t be happy with me until… I don’t even know.”

“If Minerva’s not happy with you, that’s on her.” Indrid got up and moved over to him, combed his claws through Duck’s hair. His monster-mouth was sugar-sweet. “You did kill that beast that had the king’s hunters stumped for weeks.”

Objectively, this was true. But Duck still felt inadequate, and also vaguely horny. “I want to pretend nobody expects anything complicated from me.”

“In a sex way?”

Duck laughed. “Yes, Indrid, in a sex way. If my demonic patron chooses to reward me for my good behavior, that is.”

“Just checking.” Now Indrid ran his hands possessively down Duck’s sides, making him shiver. “Which body would you prefer?”

“This one.”

“And you will let me know if you become uncomfortable?”

“Always.” Duck rested his head against Indrid’s shoulder and breathed in the feathery smell of him. Then Indrid scooped him up, bridal-style, and carried him through into the bedroom and deposited him on the bed. 

“Undress for me,” Indrid said, settling himself against the pillows. “I want to see you.”

Duck stripped obediently, folding his undershirt and pants. He had a long history of disliking his body, for a wide variety of reasons, but it was easier not to be self-conscious around Indrid’s bestial form, released from the beauty standards of Paris. 

He lay with his head in Indrid’s lap, and Indrid petted his hair, scratching just enough to make Duck’s spine tingle pleasantly. “Shall I play up my supernatural nature?” said Indrid softly.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Mm. My handsome, perfect human.”

“I am honored, O Unholy One.” Duck found Indrid’s other hand and squeezed it, then closed his eyes and imagined they were somewhere else: perhaps in Hell, Indrid some demon prince and Duck his concubine, lying on stone so close to the earth’s core it was warm to the touch. 

Finally Indrid tugged a little on Duck’s hair, making him sit up. “Will you be good for me? So I can reward you?”

Duck rested his hands on Indrid’s thighs, but unaroused, the demon’s cock was not visible between his feathers. “I… don’t know what to do.”

Indrid took Duck’s hand in his and guided it between his legs, to rub gently at a place between the feathers, until his slit opened and slick started seeping through. Duck committed this patch of feathers to memory: here was where he should touch, here where the feathers grew thicker in neat rows, ready to be parted. Then Indrid withdrew his hand and let Duck take charge, stroking more firmly until Indrid’s breathing quickened and dissolved into moans. 

“Remind me, human, who do you belong to?”

“You,” said Duck, and only after he’d said it, Indrid’s slick webbed between his fingers, did the world catch up with him. He belonged to God, he’d sworn it, and to the lord who owned his parish, and to the king, and Jesus and Mother Mary and every parishioner who had claim on his time. Much as he would like to give himself to Indrid, he wasn’t his to give. 

Indrid smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Shh,” he said. “I know. But right now all you have to worry about is this.”

Indrid’s cock was protruding now from the slit beneath Duck’s hand. “May I use my mouth?”

“Yes.” Indrid’s breath caught when Duck’s tongue touched him. “Such a polite human you are, so well-behaved for me.”

Duck licked gently up Indrid’s slit and then up his cock, sucked gently at the tip. This was worship, the way he always felt so grounded before the shrine to Minerva. He could barely get his lips halfway down the shaft without choking, but that was alright, Indrid did not demand more than he could give. Pressing his hips down into the mattress gave a dull pleasure, but Duck was not thinking of himself.

“I want you to swallow for me,” said Indrid breathlessly. “I’ll only be a moment, oh  _ please -”  _ and his hands seized in Duck’s hair and he spilled down Duck’s throat. Duck caught all of it and swallowed, and he was proud of himself for it, for following directions so well, and before he got a chance to feel pathetic for his pride Indrid was gathering him into his lap, cooing praise, running his hands all over Duck’s bare skin. “My human,” he said, “all mine, so good for me, and you deserve the best -” and slipped his hand between Duck’s thighs, already shiny with slick, and rubbed at his clit, claws safely out of the way.

Duck whined and ground himself down on Indrid’s hand. For a moment he couldn’t think, and what a fantasy that made, a slave to his demon prince, useless with arousal, no responsibilities in the world but to be warm and wet and pliant. 

Indrid groped behind his back in the bedside table and came back with the Parisian dildo, which he raised to Duck’s lips. Duck licked obediently at the cool surface. “Good boy. Lie down for me?” Indrid guided Duck down onto the mattress and settled between his legs. “Do you want to be filled?”

“Yes  _ please,”  _ said Duck, stretched himself a little with his two fingers before Indrid tugged his hand away and replaced it with the dildo, which pressed inexorably inside, solid when he tightened around it. Indrid fucked it in and out, sloppy, and after a moment Duck tugged at his shoulder. “Want you on top of me.”

“Alright.” Leaving the dildo where it was, Indrid moved up, propped up on one elbow with the other hand still holding the dildo inside Duck as he spasmed and finished around it, Indrid’s body covering his, his demon keeping him safe.

Indrid laughed, kissed his cheek. “How’s that for a reward for your excellent worship?”

Duck kept his thighs tightly closed, unwilling to be empty just yet. “Hm. Good.” His muscles slackened one by one. Then he pulled Indrid into a sloppy kiss, and his mind was delightfully blank.

\--

Duck knelt before Minerva’s shrine, a row of candles on a table beneath the mural of her triumph, watching the flames. People came sometimes on pilgrimages to see her here. Duck didn’t know whether she’d helped anyone else as she helped him, whether the gifts they brought were in thanks or in anticipation. He’d never asked. 

The sound of footsteps on the stone floor made him look up. Indrid, looking human, sat down on the bench behind where Duck knelt.

“Hey, ‘Drid.”

“Hello, Duck.” Indrid took a deep breath, swung his feet a little. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” Duck got up. His knees were starting to ache, anyway.

Indrid wouldn’t meet his eye, and that made Duck more nervous than anything else. “I need you to know that I’m not a very good demon.”

Duck kept his voice steady, imagining atrocities. “What do you mean?”

“I am neither powerful nor popular among the other demons. I’m so weak even your churchyard doesn’t bother keeping me out.”

Duck started laughing, and Indrid looked up. “Oh, Indrid, I thought you were going to tell me you were out there causing genocides.”

Indrid managed a weak smile. “No. I am just… a poor supernatural patron, especially compared to her.” He nodded up to the painting of Minerva. “I do not want my attention for you to imply that our status is the same.”

“I’d rather have you as a partner than a patron, anyway.” Duck sat down on the bench next to Indrid. “Can I put my arm around you?”

Indrid nodded, leaned into Duck’s side. “You deserve better than me,” he said very softly. “You deserve a demon who could pull the moon from the sky for you.”

Duck looked around to check that they were alone in the chapel and then shut Indrid up with a kiss. “You don’t judge me by my aptitude for demonic magic, do you?”

“No.”

Duck sighed. “I don’t even like  _ Minerva _ because of her saintly powers. She can be a lot sometimes, yeah, but she’s honest, and brave, and sees the best in everyone.”

“Sounds a lot like someone else I know.”

“I will take that compliment, but if I’m brave it’s only because I have a big scary demon to protect me.”

One benefit of Indrid’s human form: Duck could see him blush.

“Also, for all I know all demons can get into churchyards. I’ve never heard of anyone besides you trying.”

“You should take that up with the bishop. Might be a serious flaw in your security.”

Duck laughed and assumed a voice of mock offense. “Oh, no! A demon has broken into the church! And he’s stolen… my heart!”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! hit me up on tumblr @bellafarallones


End file.
